


Wait For It

by herxndale



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herxndale/pseuds/herxndale
Summary: The summer of 1925 is coming to a close, and Alexandria Thompson has just wasted away yet another three months sitting behind the counter of her parents' magic shop. So when Alex is asked by the Magical Congress of the United States of America to accompany Newt Scamander during his travels around the world, how could she say no?[discontinued]





	1. Prologue: August, 1925

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I recently saw Fantastic Beasts in theatres and fell absolutely head-over-heels in love with Newt Scamander, so of course I had to write fanfiction about him. I know many people prefer reader-inserts, but hopefully you all enjoy the character I created just as much. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Ps. Yes, I titled this fanfic after a Hamilton song. It's what happens when you listen to the same album on a loop.

_Subtitle: Alex, Get A Life (You're Pathetic)_

It had been an uneventful day of sitting behind the cash register, counting the dust particles gathering on the counter as potential customers paused to read the faded _WE SELL CHARMS_ sign and then continued walking. Of course, we also sold hexes, curses, bewitched amulets, and dinky love potions that wore off within the hour, but yeah: charms. That nobody wanted to buy. For about the thousandth time that summer, I wondered why my family even bothered keeping the family business alive.

On this day, unbeknownst to me at the time of my extreme boredom, was the day that my life changed. While I sighed and slouched in my seat, staring off into space, a very important conversation was presumably taking place in New York. It involved some ditzy government women and my idiot of an ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Somehow, they came to the conclusion that they needed to give me a job. A job that involved spying on a British man.

I know what you're thinking: _Alex, are you really so pathetic that the entire Magical Congress needed to team up to get you employed?_ To this, I say: Read the subtitle. (In other words, yes, I really am that pathetic.)

And, okay, I might have fibbed earlier. The job didn't involve spying. They just wanted me to follow this Englishman around the world while he documented magical creatures so that they could publish an article about his discoveries. Although, to be honest, I'm still not entirely sure what was so appealing about sending me on a year-long trip with a madman for the sake of some newspaper headlines. Maybe MACUSA just really, _really_ wanted me to get off my butt and do something.

Anyway, back to Day Fifty-Seven of the Worst Summer Ever. There I was, slumped over in my chair, my chin propped on my palm as I animated dust bunnies to hop around the store. Occasionally I'd conglomerate several little bunnies into a giant monster bunny, and I'd watch as it stomped around shaking its little fists.

When I tired of this, I swept the dirt back under the antique dressers and vanities with one grand gesture of my arm. That, at least, was something I had been able to accomplish during the gaping hole in my life after returning from Ilvermorny. At age nineteen I depleted my entire bank account on a tutor who specialized in wandless magic. When I ran out of dragots, I stopped attending lessons and took my place behind the counter of our wretched _WE SELL CHARMS_ shop, trying day after day not to fall asleep.

At six o' clock sharp, I slid off my stool and slunk out from behind the counter, shutting off the lights with a flick of my wrist and summoning a small spurt of wind to flip the _open_ sign so that it read _closed_. After shutting the door and whispering a quick locking spell, I headed down the street towards my parents' house, which was conveniently only two blocks away, and also where I happened to live. I know. I'm twenty-three years old and I still live my parents. Pitiful.

I probably should have taken those career meetings at Ilvermorny more seriously, but alas. Instead of creating an actual resume for myself, I decided to fill my schedule with as few classes as I could get away with. No wonder I was one of the few graduates to be so dreadfully unsuccessful.

I arrived at my parents house a few minutes later and ascended the steps to the porch, watering the hanging fern baskets as I passed them. The house was essentially a giant white cube; it had two stories and tall, plain columns supporting the wraparound porches that encircled each level. I found the dual porches to be a bit excessive, but, as my mother frequently liked to remind me, "it was a historic masterpiece." I supposed the Civil War-era no-maj who once lived here probably enjoyed his numerous porches immensely. Good for him.

As soon as I walked through the front door, my mother descended upon me, her hands falling onto my shoulders heavily. She searched my face with her highly analytical black eyes, and wrapped a few strands of my unruly blonde hair around her index finger, trying to put some shape into my frizzy curls. Blowing out an exaggerated sigh, she gave up on my hair and relented to straightening out the collar of my white button-down.

"We have a guest," she whispered in my ear, letting her hand linger on my cheek affectionately, her thumb ghosting across my skin before she spun on her heel and called out to our visitor, "Alexandria has just returned home. You wanted tea, yes?"

"Coffee, actually," a thickly accented and painfully familiar voice replied.

I winced. Professor Lee. My crazy ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Low conversation could be heard from the kitchen: the deep thunder of my father's laugh; my mother's exclamation of, "Dios mio!" as she spilled coffee; the undertone of Professor Lee's New York upbringing in her words. Wanting nothing more than to go unnoticed by present company, I silently began to creep upstairs. Halfway to the second floor I found myself staring at the unimpressed face of my cousin Sofia. She was standing at the top of the steps, her arms crossed and her dark eyebrows raised as if to say, _Really?_ I rolled my eyes at her, turning and heading back towards the chatter. Out of the corner of my eye I swore I saw the corner of her mouth curl upwards, which put a small grin on my face as I entered the kitchen.

"Alexandria!" Professor Lee exclaimed the second I crossed the threshold. She was beaming, her flimsy wire glasses balancing precariously on the tip of her nose, her shiny black hair tossed on top of her head with a decretive chopstick stuck through it. She set down her cup of coffee and pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace. I awkwardly patted her back, not nearly half as excited to see her as she was to see me.

"It feels like forever since I last saw you," Professor Lee said, placing me at arms length so she could examine me properly. I knew she was taking in my drab apparel and disheveled hair, and I knew she was nothing short of disappointed. She had always had high expectations for me, despite the lack of effort I put towards success.

"Four years, almost," I corrected her, feeling petty and childish for doing so. I didn't know what else to say, though, so I stuck with what I knew best: proving people wrong.

"Yes, well," Professor Lee released me, reclaiming her coffee, "A lot can happen in four years." By the tone of her voice and knit of her eyebrows, I could tell that she meant a lot had happened to _me_ in four years. I'd become a shell of the person I'd once been. A mere shadow.

My mother leaned forward and unfolded my fingers, which I had unknowingly clenched into fists. She gently placed a cup of coffee between my palms, silently begging me with her eyes to, _Please, Alex, keep it together._

I smiled at her reassuringly, and she clicked back against my father's side like a magnet. " _Gracias_ ," she mouthed silently.

"So, Professor, what brings you to Virginia?" I inquired politely, glancing at my mother, who beamed at me approvingly. See? I know how to be a decent human being with manners.

"Ah." Professor Lee again placed her coffee on the counter. It didn't look like she'd taken a single sip. Taking off her glasses and wiping them excitedly on the corner of her navy blue cardigan, she explained, "Well, I received an owl this morning from Miss Elara Taylor, a columnist for MACUSA. She wanted to know if I had any students I might be able to recommend for a year abroad with a British author who's studying magical creatures when I...well, when I thought of you."

I stared at Professor Lee as if she had just sprouted a second head. I had failed Care of Magical Creatures a grand total of _four times_. After not being successful at the course my third year, I attempted it again my fourth, and added it to my sixth and seventh year schedules simply because I needed another class for me to graduate. I was the absolute _worst_ person to think of when the topic of magical creatures came up.

Seeing my evident surprise, Professor Lee expanded, "I know that Care for Magical Creatures wasn't your best subject-"

"Not my best subject?" The words exploded from my mouth before I could stop them. Letting out a breathy laugh that lacked conviction, I let myself talk as fast and free as a waterfall. "On the first day of my third year I accidentally released Professor Reilly's pet augurey into the forest behind the school! I tripped over a dugbog after being explicitly told not to! I once got into an argument with a fairy about my _hair_. Oh, and remember that niffler it took forever for the school to be authorized to keep? Yeah, I _lost it._ "

Professor Lee grimaced, my mother's jaw fell, and gravity tugged my father's lips into a deep frown. "Um," Professor Lee desperately scrambled to find words. "Alexandria...you're a brilliant young woman, and MACUSA has promised the British Ministry a skilled worker to assist Mr. Scamander in his documenting of exotic beasts. They want your acceptance by tomorrow, otherwise the offer will be extended to someone else."

"Then I promptly decline," I said immediately, "I don't want to stand in the way of someone who might _actually_ benefit from this job."

My mother spoke up then. "Alexandria, dear, you might want to reconsider." I saw her fiddling with the gold cross that hung around her neck, as she often did when she was nervous.

I carefully avoided my mother's gaze as I told Professor Lee, "I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be around magical creatures again."

Professor Lee sighed and patted my shoulder, looking infinitely more disappointed in me now than she did earlier. Guilt gnawed at my insides, and I wished not for the first time that I had been a better student, a better daughter, a better friend. "Perhaps you'll reconsider," Professor Lee said softly with a small, sad smile. "Send me an owl if you change your mind."

With that, my ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher brushed past me into the hallway and disapparated in an instant.

"Alexandria, what were you thinking?" My mother demanded the moment Professor Lee was gone.

I snapped my attention to her, ready to defend myself, but instead felt myself deflating at the sorrow in her round black-brown eyes. "Lo siento mucho," I said, finding myself speaking in her mother language in the attempt to make the apology more heartfelt.

"Mija." My mother uttered the affectionate term so softly I had to strain my ears just to hear her. She unglued herself from my father and walked over to me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I fought the urge to untuck the curl. Gently, she whispered, "You have so much potential, mija. Don't waste it. Don't waste _yourself_." 

***

It was the middle of the night when Sofia shook me awake. Groggy, I pushed myself up onto my elbows, squinting through the darkness at my cousin. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, her body tilted so her face was right over mine, her long brown hair tickling my cheeks.

"Sofia?" I croaked. This had to be a dream. Sofia hadn't woken me up like this since we were kids. She hadn't so much as spoken to me in years.

"You have to take that job, Alex," Sofia said, leaning back so that she was cloaked in shadow.

I scooted myself back so that I was completely upright, my back resting against the headboard. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice harsh against my throat.

Sofia ran her fingers through her silky, chocolate hair, combing it away from her face. What I wouldn't give to have Sofia's hair. No matter what she did with it, it always looked flawless. It was something that ran on my mom's side of the family, apparently. "Alex-" Sofia broke off with a sigh. She reached over to the nightstand and flipped on the lamp so that we could see each other clearly. She was wearing a shimmering pink nightgown that went beautifully with her dark complexion. Moving her hair from one delicate shoulder to the other, her dark eyes lowered, Sofia said, "Alex, you have to go abroad for MACUSA."

"You heard that?" I wondered, immediately regretting the words. Of course Sofia had heard. All she did anymore was lurk at the top of the stairs, listening to the comings and goings of the Valesquez-Thompson house.

"Do you remember those horses your father rescued? The black mare and the white stallion?" Sofia asked. I nodded, and she smiled. "We used to ride them everyday. You on the black mare and me on the stallion. We would race across the countryside and through the woods, always pushing each other to go faster. Your mother wanted to sell them - we wouldn't be able to afford their medical care and food for much longer - but your father promised he wouldn't let anything happen to them. He saw the way you rode that horse, Alex, the way you flew through the air, your hair whipping behind you, your arms lifted like a warrior returned victorious from war. And when your mother sold them you refused - _refused_ \- to let them go. You wrapped your arms around the mare's neck and didn't let go until you literally fell asleep on the ground. And then in the morning, when you awoke and found out the mare was gone...you cried for weeks, Alex. And you never forgave your mom for selling them. Even to this day. I know...I know that we have our differences. That I can't do the same things you can because I'm...because I'm _defective_. But that horse. You loved that horse so much, and if there's one thing I could never hate you for, it would be that love you had."

A tear ran down my cheek, and I laughed uncertainly, trying to break the tension, and swiped the tear away. "So...you want me to accept this job offer for...a horse?"

Sofia giggled, and her eyes glistened in the lamplight with her own tears. I hadn't realized she still felt so deeply about a past she had tried so hard to cover up. "Not for the horse, Alex," she said, pushing my shoulder playfully, "For me. Because I can never go on the same fantastic adventures that you can."

"Okay," I whisper, staring at Sofia, afraid that if I blinked she would disappear and everything would all turn out to be a dream.

"Thank you," Sofia whispered back with a smile. Then she switched off the lamp and exited the room, her footsteps silent despite the creaky wood floors. Still hazy from being awakened at such an hour, I fell back against the pillows, my eyelids sliding shut once more.

***

When the sun rose the next morning, its golden fingers peeking through my gauzy curtains, my eyes immediately flew open. I sat bolt upright and swung my legs out of bed, grabbing my robe and running as fast as I could to Sofia's room. Without knocking, I burst through the door, only to find the room empty. The bed, pale pink to match all of Sofia's other accessories, was neatly made, and nothing was out of place.

Confused, I whirled around and thudded downstairs, thinking maybe she was eating breakfast. But when I skidded into the kitchen, all I found was my father in slippers, reading the newspaper, and my mother making pancakes. "Where's Sofia?" I demanded.

My mother looked over at me in surprise. "Are the two of you talking again?"

I opened my mouth to say, _Yes_ , but then I closed it, not sure if that was even true. Were we back on speaking terms? Or was last night just a one-time thing? Deciding to be honest, I answered, "I don't know."

"Well. I made chocolate chip pancakes: your favorite," my mother said, sliding two freshly made pancakes onto a colorful ceramic plate and handing it to me. I took the plate and sat at the table, using the butter and syrup already set out on the table to smother my breakfast.

Taking a bite of pancake - which, by the way, tasted like heaven - I said, "Mama, if you're trying to convince me to take the job for MACUSA, you don't have to."

My mother spun around, her eyes wide. "Mija, what are you saying?"

Grinning, I told her, "I'll do it. I'm going to spend a year with magical creatures and try my _very_ hardest not to mess anything up."

My father glanced up from his newspaper just in time to see my mother come flying at me to tackle me in a giant hug, her head burying into the crook of my neck as she muttered happily in Spanish. Releasing me, her dark eyes shining with pride, she said, "I will send an owl right away." Pressing a kiss onto my cheek, she hurried off to find our owl.


	2. Chapter One: September 1, 1925

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fastest I've ever updated a fanfiction before! I hope you like this chapter, and I promise the next will be more exciting. Enjoy! :)

_Subtitle: Who Names Their Child Newton?_

I was about to arrive in London for the first time of my life, and if we didn’t dock soon, I was going to break something. I was tired of the constant rocking of the ship, tired of my stomach swirling violently and emptying itself every hour or so. I had spent an entire week hiding out in my cabin, seasick and miserable, and if my feet didn’t touch solid ground soon, I was going to lose all will to live. 

Somehow, I had managed to choke down breakfast that morning, and luckily it was staying down. I still felt a little uneasy, though, even as I sat in front of my scrappy little vanity, carefully pulling curlers out of my hair and using my wand to charm each blonde corkscrew in place. Taking a blue satin ribbon and tying back my hair, I pulled the ugliest face I could in the mirror as a testament to how much I hated dressing up. Nonetheless, I applied light makeup to hide my sleep deprivation and pulled my most presentable outfit from my undetectably extended handbag. 

I stood, smoothing the blue skirt that flared from my hips and double checked that my blouse was tucked in properly. With a deep breath, I pulled back my shoulders and lifted my chin, plastering on the most realistic smile I could manage. Feeling a bit like a painted porcelain doll, I exited my cabin and joined the crowd of onlookers waiting impatiently by the ship’s rail. 

Everyone on the deck was pressed against each other like sardines, trying desperately to see London in the distance. The closer the cluster of buildings got, the more anxious everyone became. As the ramps were dropped onto the dock, the roaring herd of no-majs swarmed the exit, shoving their way past me in their excitement. 

I hung back, waiting for the elbowing and pushing to cease before finding solace in having land beneath me once again. From there, I followed the masses through customs, spending a couple hours standing in lines, waiting for my papers to be sifted through and my bag to be peeked at. I was about to walk past the final officer when he stopped me, his hand gripping my upper arm and his eyes squinting at me suspiciously. 

“Wha’s a pretty young thing like you doin’ in London by ‘erself?” He asked me. 

I yanked my arm out of his grasp. I sniffed disdainfully, giving him the haughtiest expression I could muster. “I was given a job offer,” I informed him.

“Right,” the officer said, but it didn’t sound like he believed me. 

My blood boiling, I asked sweetly, “Will that be all?”

The officer waved me along, not even bothering to reply. As I stalked past him into the city, I couldn’t help but allow myself to be dragged into a foul mood. _Wha’s a pretty young thing like you doin’ in London by ‘erself?_ What, did he think I needed a _man_ to accompany me everywhere? Certainly, all the other women on the ship had been on the arms of their husbands, but was it really that out of place for a woman to have a career? Even though I didn’t really have a career, as a woman _pretending_ to have one, I took offense. 

Marching angrily through the streets, I made my way into Westminster, and turned onto Whitehall. My sourness began to dissipate as I located the abandoned red telephone booth that marked the Ministry of Magic’s visitor entrance. The reality of what I was about to go do was starting to set in, leaving little room for my annoyance towards the ignorant officer. 

Recalling the instructions I had received shortly before departing from America, I stepped into the telephone booth and punched in the numbers “62442.” As I began my descent underground, I couldn’t help thinking about how silly the British government’s location was. All you had to do to get into MACUSA was say a few spells to the Woolworth Building. I supposed the security might be better in England, but it all still seemed very inconvenient. 

A cool voice within the telephone booth informed me that I was now in the Atrium, and that I needed to stop by the Security Desk. Walking through the sprawling lobby, I couldn’t help but stare. Beneath me was polished dark wood flooring, and above me was a bright blue ceiling with wriggling golden symbols. On either side of the room were fireplaces, which people seemed to be stepping in and out of. I approached the Security Desk, behind which a very grumpy wizard sat. He scowled at me as I stepped up to him, my wand held out for his examination.

The scowling wizard grumbled as he took the proper weights and measurements of my standard Violetta Beauvais wand of swamp mayhaw and rougarou hair. He looked at the silver detailing that encircled the handle and muttered about how Americans didn’t know how to make proper wands. Something about how, _Wands are tools, not props_ and _Bloody Americans think everything is about appearance_. I decided not to comment on it, and instead gave him a stiff, “Thank you,” and continued to the twenty or so golden elevators. 

Stepping into one of the lifts, I quickly found the button for Level Four, and pressed myself against the wall, as far away from the other witches and wizards as possible. When the golden gates opened, I saw that a man was already standing there waiting for me. As soon as the elevator had sped away, the man found my hand and shook it vigorously. “You must be Alexandria!” He exclaimed in a booming voice that echoed off the sleek walls. 

I winced at his volume, and retracted my hand as soon as I thought it wouldn’t be impolite. “Yes, that’s me,” I said, trying to smile, but probably grimacing instead. 

“Brilliant,” the wizard grinned. He was dressed smartly in a charcoal colored no-maj suit, an emerald wizard’s cloak thrown around his shoulders as if it were an afterthought. He looked to be in his mid-forties, and his brown hair was thinning, leaving a slightly bald spot on the crown of his head. “I am Augustus Worme, owner and _sole_ creator of Obscurus Books.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said politely, choosing to overlook the way he just had to point out he had started his own business. I mean, what did he want me to say? _Oh, good boy, Gus, you’ve officially wasted all your money on a pointless investment!_ No, that seemed a bit harsh. So I remained quiet. 

“Yes, yes, you as well. Miss Thompson — walk with me, would you? — I’d like to discuss the manner of your employment before you meet Mr. Scamander,” Augustus said, draping his arm across my shoulders as if we were old friends. I tried not to squirm beneath his heavy appendage. 

As he lead me down the long corridor, I said uncertainly, “Okay….” 

“Miss Thompson, I want you to know that I am well aware that the American Congress has sent you over here as a publicity act,” August began, giving me a look that said, _You sly dog, you._ As if I had any control over what MACUSA did or wanted. I began to open my mouth in response, but Augustus cut me off. “All of that is fine and well, but, see, I’m quite concerned about my man Newt. See, Mr. Scamander is very, ah, _dedicated_ to his work. Which—” August let out a breathy laugh “—which is great, don’t get me wrong, but he tends to, ah, get himself in trouble. And, well, I’m sure you’ll understand this, Miss Thompson — you look like a bright young witch — but I can’t risk losing my only author. I’m a new publisher who hasn’t managed to make very many contracts yet, and, well, quite frankly I can’t lose Mr. Scamander to his own carelessness. I need you to keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble. I’ll even give you a few sickles for your troubles. I’m sure you understand, don’t you, Miss Thompson?”

Augustus looked down at me expectantly, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. What a schmuck. He wasn’t concerned for Mr. Scamander’s life; he just wanted to make money. “I understand completely, sir,” I said, forcing my voice to remain unwavering and polite, “You have money behind this guy; you don’t want to lose it. Makes perfect sense that you’d want his wellbeing ensured.”

“Brilliant.” Augustus beamed so wide I thought his face would crack right in half. “Absolutely brilliant,” he repeated, more to himself than to me. He stopped outside of a door labelled _NEWTON SCAMANDER_ , and said, “Alright then. I guess I’ll just leave you here.”

“Thank you,” I said. I began to open the door before remembering to shout at Augustus’s retreating figure, “Don’t forget to give me those extra sickles!”

Augustus Worme visibly winced, probably regretting his promise of giving me extra money, but assured me nonetheless, “Of course, Miss Thompson! Wouldn’t want to skimp out on you!”

Feeling satisfied with myself, I slipped into Newton Scamander’s office. By the way, what kind of name was _Newton_? Seriously, what were his parents thinking? I felt bad for the guy, knowing that he must have had to go to _school_ with that name. 

“Mr. Scamander?” I called out softly as I stepped inside. The second the door closed behind me, I realized just what the state of the office was. The room was a small, square shape with a large desk pushed against one wall, and every inch of the place was covered in parchment with scribbled notes and sketches. Amidst all the chaos a figure was hunched over the swamped desk, the quill in his hand whirring across his parchment. “Oh dear Lord,” I muttered to myself, still taking in the state of the place. As someone who tended to appreciate tidiness, this was my worst nightmare.

“I, uh, I apologize for the mess,” a smooth British accent said softly. My gaze latched onto the man, but he hadn’t moved an inch since speaking. He was still working intently on what was before him. “I realize now that it’s not very professional.”

“It’s…” _A disaster_ , I wanted to say, but instead managed, “It’s no problem.”

“Yes, well,” the man dropped the quill back into its ink pot and spun around suddenly, rolling up his parchment as he did so. My pulse immediately began to race the second his eyes met mine. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the way his ashy ginger hair flopped across his freckled face carelessly, or the intensity of his muddy green gaze, or the fact that his sleeves were sloppily rolled to his elbows and revealed wonderful pale, freckled forearms. Standing, he said with his hand outstretched, “Alexandria, yes?”

I cleared my throat, snapping myself out of whatever weird trance I had been thrown into. He wasn’t _that_ attractive, I told myself. I mean, he was named _Newton_ , for God’s sake! Never mind that I could listen to his voice and watch the way his lips formed my name all day. Ignoring the faint burning sensation on my cheeks, I placed my hand in his and shook. “Please,” I said, “Call me Alex.”

“Newt,” he exchanged in return as our hands parted ways. I bit back a giggle, pressing my lips together to keep myself from smiling. Not that it was any use. Newt noticed my reaction to his name and tossed me an irritated look. “Laugh if you must,” he said, “But I didn’t choose it.”

“No, of course not,” I said, praying that my face remained blank, but knowing that my voice shook dreadfully as I spoke. 

Newt, looking exasperated, sighed and pushed down his sleeves, which was a shame, really, but probably for the best if I wanted to focus on anything else other than his arms. He stood there expectantly, then gestured towards the door, “Shall we?”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” I leapt into motion, clumsily opening the door and stepping out into the hall. Newt brushed past me and pulled out his wand, enchanting the parchment so that it floated down the hall. 

Glancing over at me and seeing my curious expression, Newt explained, “A note to Augustus.”

“Right,” I said, sounding a bit repetitive. We walked down the long hall in silence, and his gaze refused to meet mine. On the elevator ride back down to the Atrium, he completely disregarded the fact that I was standing right beside him. I cursed myself for having such bad impulse control, and hoped he didn’t hate me for making fun of his name. 

As we hurried across the Atrium floor, I said, “Um. Newt. Mr. Scamander. I’m sorry for laughing earlier.”

“Don’t bother. It’s — it’s natural, I suppose,” Newt said, his eyes darting up to find mine but still flitting away quickly. 

I had to jog to keep up with Newt’s long-legged strides, and my low heels clacked annoyingly on the floor. “Yes, but—” I paused, considering what to say next. “I don’t want you to — to be… _angry_ with me.”

Newt glanced at me again with those earthy green eyes. “I’m not angry with you, Alexandria, I just — I just don’t think I need a — a _babysitter_ ,” he tried to explain, stuttering as he got more frustrated. 

I reached out, grabbing Newt’s wrist, and he reluctantly stopped his brisk pace. Trying to catch his gaze, I said, “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, this wasn’t exactly my idea either.” 

Newt looked at me curiously. “No?”

“No,” I confirmed. “I’m…it’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always,” Newt replied cryptically. Gee, that was deep. 

Suddenly Newt laced his fingers through mine — an action that caught me completely off-guard and launched me into another flustered mess — and directed me towards one of the fireplaces. “Clear your mind,” he instructed, “And stay close.” He hardly gave me any time to process what he had just said before stepping into the flames and disapparating, taking me along with him. 

***

We appeared outside of a dingy little apartment, and Newt tapped the doorknob with a mumbled, “ _Alohomora_.” Walking into the apartment, I was greeted by a replica of Newt’s office at the Ministry: stacks upon stacks of books, parchment, and drawings of weird animals. He disappeared into the disarray, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the doorway. 

“So,” I called out, not sure where I should be directing my voice. “Do you want to tell me about this book of yours? Maybe catch me up on what you plan on doing for the next year?”

Newt poked his head out from a doorway I hadn’t even realize existed. His eyebrows were drawn, and his mouth was opened slightly, but he made no response. Snapping his jaw shut, he vanished once more, only to hurry back over to me with a case clutched in his hand. Excitedly, he beckoned me over, and set the case on the ground. 

“What’s this for?” I asked, watching as Newt knelt on the floor to unlatch the case. 

“It’s my secret,” he said without looking at me. “I’ve put an undetectable extension charm on it so that nobody, ah, finds out.” He opened the lid and promptly stepped into the case. I peered over the edge as he descended a wooden ladder, and when he reached the bottom his voice sounded far away when he called out, “Come on, then!”

I slipped inside the case, shimmying down the ladder and skipping the last two rungs with a small leap. I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the workspace that was now before me. There were benches against the walls with all sorts of plants, potion vials, and rolls of parchment on the tables. I examined the contents of a little pewter cauldron, which was letting off a greenish smoke and had an enchanted spoon stirring it continuously. 

“Pretty cool,” I said, still admiring the various bottles and jars of exotic ingredients. 

Just then there was the sound of scrabbling claws scratching at the floor and desperate, animalistic whimpering. I turned to face Newt just in time to see him scooping up a small, furry creature. 

Newt grinned at me from behind the animal, his eyes full of light and excitement, the creature wriggling in his arms and nudging his face lovingly. “This is Buford,” he said, “He’s a crup.”

“A crup,” I echoed, dumbfounded. Also, _Buford_? That was only marginally better than Newton. 

“Crups are similar to a muggle dogs, except they’ve got forked tails,” Newt explains, scratching Buford’s ears so hard that I thought Buford might die of pure joy. 

I frowned. “Muggle?”

Newt gave me a puzzled look. “You know,” he said, “A non-magic person.”

“Oh. We call them no-majs,” I said, and Newt scoffed. I crossed my arms defensively and narrow my eyes. With a challenge in my voice, I demanded, “What?”

“Nothing,” Newt brushed off, placing Buford on the ground.

Watching the crup scramble out of the room and through a tent flap leading who knows where, I noticed that while Buford didn’t have a forked tail, there was a knot of twisted bone and fur that he tried desperately to wag side to side. “What happened to his tail?” I wondered. 

“I found Buford just outside of Winchester a few years ago with his tail only partially removed. Whoever tried casting the severing charm must have had a faulty wand, and they probably didn’t want to take him to the Ministry to have it done properly. So I brought him home and healed him as best I could,” Newt told me. 

“So you’re, like, a magical creature veterinarian,” I said. 

“Not exactly. More like…more like a — a _rescuer_ ,” Newt corrected, gesturing wildly with his arms. I couldn’t help but grin at his boyish delight. His good mood was dreadfully contagious. 

Newt began to follow Buford’s path, and beckoned for me to follow. Ducking through the flap of the canvas tent, I found myself standing in a large marsh habitat. From the mud a half-foot tall, vaguely humanoid creature with a waddling walk and deep frown emerged, scowling as his high-pitched squeak of a voice said accusingly, “Back again, are you?”

With an exasperated sigh, Newt said, “Of course I’m back, Leroy, this is my suitcase, isn’t it?”

Leroy grumbled under his breath and toddled off. I giggled, “He’s not very pleasant.”

“He’s an imp,” Newt informed me. “They’re not the most cheerful.” He continued over to a large bucket filled with water. “Look at this one,” he invited, sounding proud, “My malaclaw. Fantastic for potions.”

I peered into the bucket, and found a large lobster-looking thing glaring back at me. I scrunched my nose at it, and it blew angry bubbles back up at me. 

Deciding to let the malaclaw pout, I approached a deep underground pond. Through the crystal clear water a greenish-brownish blob with loads of tentacles bobbed about lazily. “That’s Maggie,” Newt’s voice said from behind me. I glanced at him over my shoulder, surprised at his sudden proximity, and was startled by the regret and pain that contorted his usually elegant features. “She’s not the most sociable. Let’s give her some space.” His slender hand wrapped around my wrist gently, and pulled me away. I tried to keep my eyes on Maggie for as long as I could, but eventually relented and allowed myself to be lead away from the pond. 

“What happened to Maggie?” I asked Newt. 

“It’s — it’s truly awful what — what wizards are capable of sometimes,” Newt uttered quietly. He left it at that, offering no further explanation, which only made me more curious. 

“Um. So, do you have any more creatures?” I asked, hoping to lift Newt’s spirits once more. 

Almost immediately, he brightened. “Yes. Just a few. I’ve doxies, plimpies, a moke, and a porlock,” he replied. 

“Why would you keep doxies?” I inquired, shuddering at the memory of those furry devils with wings. We once found a nest of them in our magic shop, about five hundred eggs buried beneath the floors. It had been a nightmare trying to eradicate them, and there were several visits to a healer after the many-legged beasts started biting. 

Newt shrugged. “Curiosity, I suppose. They’ve got to be useful for something.”

I hummed in response, clearly unconvinced. As far as I was concerned, doxies were better off far, far away from me. 

“Al — Alexandria,” Newt began, stumbling slightly on my unfamiliar name. “How soon could you be ready to start traveling?”

“Um. As soon as you want, really,” I answered, “I packed light, and I wasn’t planning on sightseeing or anything.”

“Alright. I was planning on heading to Scotland tomorrow, as there are rumors of a quintaped living on the Isle of Drear,” Newt said. “We might have to do some old-fashioned muggle — er, no-maj — backpacking. The island’s unplottable, so it’s not on any map.”

I looked at Newt skeptically out of the corner of my eye. “This island wouldn’t happen to be unplottable _because_ of the quinta-whatever, would it?”

Newt grinned, but made no effort to reply. Great. I really hoped that I would survive the coming year.


End file.
